


Pussycat

by Cur_Non



Series: The Room Where it Happens [1]
Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Consensual Non-Consent, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Jefferson is a bad boy cliché, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Poor BDSM etiquette, Public Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 20:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6023245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cur_Non/pseuds/Cur_Non
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s that supposed to—“  Hamilton’s voice cracked as he heard the audible click of the door locking.<br/>“So the pussycat wants to play, is that it?” Jefferson shrugged off his leather jacket and hung it over the back of the swivel chair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pussycat

Hamilton first met Jefferson the night of Lafayette’s return to the States. They’d arranged to have dinner, and Lafayette suggested the two of them meet.

Begrudgingly the two agreed, neither wanting to upset a dear friend, but neither was a stranger to the politics of the other, and the news that Lafayette’s flight had been delayed was a most unfavorable turn of events.

When Hamilton arrived at the hotel, Jefferson was already waiting for him in the lobby.

“You came up from Virginia,” Hamilton said, more of a statement than a question. Jefferson nodded.

“Decided to spend a weekend in the city with the Marquis. He flicked the room key between his fingers. “Just checked in a little while ago. You live in the city, I hear—” Hamilton nodded, “—a shame. I should have suggested the two of you come down to Monticello, it’s so much nicer this time of year. Or anytime, really,” he added thoughtfully.

Hamilton tried not to roll his eyes.

Jefferson stood. At six-foot-two, he towered over Hamilton.

“Upstairs,” Jefferson said, nudging him forward. “No sense waiting around in the lobby.”

Hamilton followed him, having to walk quickly to match Jefferson’s long strides, and he had to duck quickly into the elevator—Jefferson didn’t bother holding the door for him.

“You’re pretty rude for a Southerner,” Hamilton said—half in jest—as he entered Jefferson’s room, but he ducked preemptively in case Jefferson was the sort to strike him.

Jefferson sneered. “And you’re jumpy and skittish. I bet you fancy yourself quite the tomcat around here.”

“What’s that supposed to—“ Hamilton’s voice cracked as he heard the audible click of the door locking.

“So the pussycat wants to play, is that it?” Jefferson shrugged off his leather jacket and hung it over the back of the swivel chair. He was tall and thin, but his muscles still showed through his thin shirt. His red hair was pulled back in a low ponytail—redder than Hamilton’s, a fiery red—and freckles dotted his cheeks and ran the length of his long pointed nose. Hamilton wondered if those freckles extended over the rest of his body as well. A small silver hoop hung from his left ear.

“I don’t like the way you talk,” he said, the ends of his sentences carrying a slow drawl. “I’d like to shut you up a while.”

“Lafayette—“

“Said he’ll be at the restaurant in well over an hour.”

Hamilton stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was regretting more and more that he’d even agreed to join Jefferson for dinner, even if it was in order to see Lafayette again.

“Do you even ride a motorcycle?” Hamilton said finally, gesturing at the cut of Jefferson’s jacket.

“A Ducati,” Jefferson said cooly. “Monster. A custom job,” he went on, the corners of his mouth twitching up as he saw Hamilton trying desperately to think of some kind of quick response. “Cost quite a bit. My wife didn’t want me to ride it up to the city, but—“ he glanced at the lights beyond the window, “—it seemed silly to make the trip without having at least a little fun.”

“That’s a long drive.”

“I ride fast,” he said, his eyes dark.

 _Predatory_ , Hamilton thought. A flutter of adrenaline rippled through him.

Jefferson rolled his shoulders and stretched, tipping his head from side to side as if preparing for something. He seemed too young, too renegade for politics.

Hamilton watched him with feigned disinterest. Jefferson, always so cool, Jefferson, who never backed down for anyone, who was notorious for taking what he wanted without ever giving back. This was the first time they’d met, but he’d heard his name mentioned often in the city, sometimes derisively, sometimes in awe. And this Jefferson was younger than he’d imagined—and far better looking.

“Lafayette talks a lot about you,” Jefferson said, crossing the room to stand next to Hamilton. “It’s irritating.”

“It’s not my fault if we’re better friends than you are.”

Jefferson laughed, but there was no mirth in it at all. “That’s not it. But the way he talks about you—I don’t buy it, not for a second. You’ve hardly opened your mouth and it’s still too much. Makes me want to do something about it.”

“Why even agree to come then,” Hamilton retorted. “Why not just stay on your fucking estate?”

Jefferson twisted his arm and shoved him hard against the desk, and Hamilton had to catch himself with his free hand.

“Hey—“

“Why not just say no?” Jefferson said. “Just ask me to stop.” He pinned Hamilton to the desk, and ran his hand up between his legs—Hamilton spread his instinctively, still not sure what was happening—and Jefferson undid his fly, shoving his hand inside and kneading at his cock, and Hamilton sucked his breath in through his teeth, his body responding a little too quickly to the stimuli.

Jefferson let go of his arm and Hamilton braced himself on the desk with both hands, letting Jefferson jerk him off, wondering how they had gotten to this point, trying not to give Jefferson the satisfaction of hearing him moan—at this, he failed miserably.

“Get on your knees,” Jefferson whispered in his ear, finally releasing Hamilton’s cock and pushing him down.

Hamilton sunk to the ground in front of Jefferson, obediently, his pants still around his knees, still hard and _aching_ and Jefferson slowly undid his jeans and slid his cock out, the tip red and wet.

“You know what to do.”

Hamilton didn’t, really, but he wasn’t about to _tell_ Jefferson that. So he slowly took him in his mouth, and he tasted of salt and sweat and Hamilton _liked_ it and he moaned a little despite himself.

Jefferson laughed. “You’re a bit of a whore, aren’t you?”

Hamilton pulled back and glared at him. “You should talk. You—“

“Did I say you could stop?”

Hamilton obeyed him—why he didn’t know—and took just the head in his mouth, rolling his tongue over the slit until he could taste his arousal.

“I should fuck you,” Jefferson said. “Would you like that?” He tipped his hips forward, sliding his dick further into Hamilton’s mouth, and was rewarded with a gasp.

“You really are a little slut,” he said, moving shallowly in and out of Hamilton’s mouth, and Hamilton’s hands were on his hips, bracing himself but also not stopping, not wanting to stop.

Jefferson curled his fingers into his hair, forcing him down further, until he felt his cock rub against the back of his throat and _oh sweet lord_ Hamilton felt a rush of heat pool in his groin. He let Jefferson fuck him like that, harder than that, until his eyes were wet and he was whimpering and only then did Jefferson pull him off.

“Don’t forget to breathe, Alex,” he said, using for the first time his given name, and his _nickname_ at that.

Hamilton sat back on his heels, panting, tears streaking his cheeks and his throat feeling pricked and raw.

“Had enough?”

He looked up and Jefferson was smirking at him, cock hard and shining and no, he hadn’t had enough, not while Jefferson could still claim he had bested him, not while his pride was at stake.

So he took him again in his mouth, with more determination this time, and this time when Jefferson put his hand in his hair it was to slow his pace. He pushed his hand away, hooked his fingers into the belt loops of Jefferson’s jeans, and pulled him in deeper, _sucked_ him, his hands slid over his ass, pressed into his skin, and he felt Jefferson’s knees bend slightly.

He knew he’d won then, before even hearing him groan, before he came, hot and wet in his mouth and he swallowed on reflex against his cock and Jefferson had to put both hands on his shoulders to steady himself.

After a moment Jefferson pulled back, left a drip of cum on Hamilton’s lips, and smirked again.

“You look good like that,” he said, and Hamilton blushed, hastily wiping his eyes and mouth.

“Your dick too,” Jefferson added as he grabbed a couple tissues from the side table and gingerly wiped cum and sweat from his cock. Hamilton reddened, his cock still poised and stiff, anticipating still more.

“Hurry up and get dressed." He pulled on his jacket. "We’re going to be late.”

“But—“

“Lafayette came all the way from France, he hasn’t had time to even put his bags down, and you’re going to make him wait?” Jefferson clicked his tongue.

“Shameful, Hamilton. You have no sense of duty.”

Hamilton forced himself to dress, wincing as he did up his pants, pulling his shirt down low to hide his affliction.

Just before they stepped out the door Jefferson cupped him from behind, pressing his hand hard into Hamilton’s still aching erection. Hamilton moaned, leaning back against him, his hips rocking into his hand.

“Tsk—no sense of restraint at all,” Jefferson murmured, his voice low in Hamilton’s ear as he rubbed at his cock. He ran his tongue along Hamilton’s ear. “I bet you’d let me fuck you right here in the hallway, right up against this wall, and you’d _beg_ me for more.”

“P-please,” Hamilton gasped out, not really sure if he was asking for it or wanting him to stop, and Jefferson released him, just as the elevator doors opened and they exchanged places with a bellhop.

In the elevator, Jefferson pinned him to the wall, bit at his neck and ran one hand up under Hamilton’s shirt, pinching hard at his nipple and undoing the top button of Hamilton’s fly with the other, just enough that he could slip his fingers in and rub at the head of Hamilton’s cock.

“You’re soaked already,” he said with a hint of surprise, the words breathy against Hamilton’s throat.

Hamilton couldn’t say anything at that point, rolling his hips as if he could possibly get Jefferson to touch more than just the slit of his cockhead, and he let out a whine of frustration that he hoped would adequately convey _Well of course, you fucker, you’ve been getting me off the last ten minutes_.

“We’re on the twenty-eighth floor,” Jefferson said, still leaning over him. “You better hurry.”

He stepped back and leaned on the opposing wall. Hamilton stared at him, Jefferson eyeing how his dick was starting to protrude from his open fly, and Hamilton yanked his pants and briefs down and took himself in hand, bracing himself on the wall behind him, his hips jerking into his fist.

But the elevator was a fast one—designed to take guests to the eightieth floor in only a minute—and before Hamilton could finish they were there.

There was a _ding_ as the elevator arrived—miraculously uninterrupted—on the ground floor.

Jefferson held the door shut just long enough for Hamilton to button himself back up, shaking and frustrated, and then he strode out calmly into the lobby, leaving Hamilton to follow him.

The foyer was mostly empty, save for a balding older man with glasses and two older and heavily made-up women who were clearly drunk on champagne.

“I called a cab,” Jefferson said softly, tipping Hamilton’s chin up and inspecting him as if he were some particularly expensive investment. “They’ll be here any minute.”

 

“I can’t—“ Hamilton started to say, but Jefferson let his fingers graze over his jaw, felt his nails drag low on his throat, and the words wouldn’t come out.

“Cab’s here,” Jefferson said what felt like only a second later, and he headed out the door without a second glance. Hamilton staggered after him, his legs still shaking, blood aflame.

Of course Jefferson would have called for a fancy cab, Hamilton thought weakly, but he was grateful for the black partition that would separate them from the driver and give them some privacy. Hamilton felt as though a slight breeze would make him come at that point, and Jefferson had forced him to sit in the middle, where he could trace the thin line of hair that descended from his navel to his aching cock.

“Come here,” Jefferson said, and pulled Hamilton right into his lap. Hamilton could feel the bulge of his jeans against his ass and _Oh, what he wouldn’t give for Jefferson to fuck him right now_.

“Pussycat, there’s a handkerchief in my front pocket,” Jefferson purred in his ear. “Mind you get it so you don’t make such a filthy mess of the car.” He undid Hamilton’s fly, allowing him just the tiniest bit of relief.

Hamilton arched back, making sure to rub his hand over Jefferson’s inseam as he did so, and Jefferson responded by cupping him over his briefs, a little too hard.

“Stop,” he said firmly, but his words came out through gritted teeth.

Hamilton did so, reluctantly but also without much choice, and Jefferson slipped his cock out of his briefs and moved his hand over him, painfully slowly.

“H-hurry up,” Hamilton whimpered, his hips rocking—a futile attempt, given their position—he rubbed the head of his dick aggressively—the only part

Jefferson would let him touch, since he wanted it covered with the handkerchief—but the movement of the car, feeling the heat of Jefferson’s lap just beneath him—and then Jefferson _did_ speed up, moving his hand hard and fast along his length, and Hamilton was bracing himself with one hand digging into Jefferson’s thigh, the other squeezing his dick as he came, Jefferson’s free hand over his mouth to keep him from crying out, his other hand still working his cock, forcefully pumping to ensure that every bit was spent.

He slid off Jefferson’s lap and lay on the leather bench of the cab, panting.

Jefferson pulled a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his hands. “Seat belt, Hamilton,” Jefferson said with an admonishing tone.

Hamilton whimpered but didn’t move.

“Oh come now, pussycat,” Jefferson said, taking his arm and pulling him back into a seated position. “Do I have to help you with that, too?” He pulled the lap belt over him, and Hamilton realized dimly that Jefferson had been wearing his the entire time, the shoulder strap just behind him instead of in front.

“You’re an ass,” he muttered.

“Make yourself decent,” Jefferson said stiffly, turning his head to look out the tinted windows.

Hamilton did so, gingerly, his cock now uncomfortably sensitive to the dragging, wet fabric of his underwear.

Jefferson tipped the driver and and dragged Hamilton onto the street. “Can you keep yourself together?” he asked, that annoyingly pleased with himself look back on his face.

“Yes,” Hamilton said sullenly. He straightened his shirt. “You’re the one who initiated all of this anyway. I was just going to show up for dinner.”

“You’re still going to show up for dinner.”

“Yeah, but—“ he tried to give Jefferson a look but he was still walking, not attempting to match Hamilton’s pace. “—But not exactly with the decorum I was intending to.”

“Social étiquette doesn’t seem like your style,” Jefferson said with another smirk.

“Oh, like it’s yours either,” Hamilton snapped, finally starting to come back to himself. “Jerking off guys in elevators—“

“I didn’t do that.”

“—Or in moving cars—“

Jefferson held the door to the restaurant open for him. “Are you done?”

“My dear Hamilton!” came the joyful exclamation from across the room and Lafayette, tall and beaming, knocked over his chair in his excitement to get up.

“I guess for now I am,” he muttered to Jefferson.

 

“Thomas,” Lafayette whined when they finally got to their seats. He was looking at Hamilton. “You didn’t—”

“Lafayette,” Jefferson grinned widely. “Please. I would never _disobey_ you.”

Hamilton sat down opposite Jefferson, guilty, with Lafayette on his right.

The Frenchman’s eyes narrowed. “How evasive of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo that happened. First attempt at Jefferson/Hamilton. Hamilton will talk more next time I promise. He was too quiet. :/
> 
>  
> 
> ...Also, Jefferson is maybe in some weird only-when-you're-in-town D/s relationship with Lafayette? >__> Perhaps that will be another story at some point.


End file.
